A Story of Gems
by WineandSarcasm
Summary: Many years and a number of human lifetimes later, it occurred to Legolas that Tauriel's inability to return the feelings that he had once entertained for her should have been obvious. The truth was sitting plainly out in the open, dangling rather elegantly from a fine silver chain around Tauriel's neck. A story of Tauriel's life in Mirkwood, as it pertains to a certain necklace.
1. Chapter 1

Many years and a number of human lifetimes later, it occurred to Legolas that Tauriel's inability to return the feelings that he had once entertained for her should have been obvious, even before the ordeal with the dwarf—Kíli, he would remind himself, the voice in his head always sounding exactly like his fiery-haired friend and sister-in-arms when his thoughts to this turn. Yes, Kíli was important, especially to her, yet this was something that had started years before the quest to reclaim the mountain from Smaug—Legolas simply suspected that he had been too blind to notice it.

(Later, he would also wager that he was not the only one.)

Still, for those who possessed a large amount of foresight and perceptive ability, the truth was sitting plainly out in the open, dangling rather elegantly from a fine silver chain around Tauriel's neck, where it had rested for any and all who would see for centuries.

As a rule, Tauriel never wore much by way of jewelry. For one, the daughter of Mirkwood was first and foremost a warrior and had always felt that bright and flashy jewels would only get in the way and attract unwanted attention—especially when her whole livelihood, not to mention survival (which Tauriel never did) depending on her ability to be as inconspicuous as possible while moving through Mirkwood's lands, ridding them of the seemingly ever-present threats. It just didn't seem practical.

The second, and more unspoken reason the elleth limited herself to the few pieces of jewelry she always wore was more a matter of social standing. Tauriel was Silvan, and as such, lacked the precious gems with which her Sindar and Noldor counterparts regularly adorned themselves. For her, this was no problem—she had long ago come to terms with her social standing, which is to say, she rarely spared her time to think on it in the present days—not as she had in her youth. She was proud of her rise in the ranks from simple soldier to captain of Mirkwood's guard, although it was more a pride and sense of contentment in her duties than one of elevated status.

She had come to the Elvenking's halls at a young age, helpless, bloodied, and lost—an attack by servants of darkness leaving her bereft of family, a home, and all possessions except for the very clothes on her back the elegant, yet deadly daggers that had only recently belonged to her late father. The king, moved by he tragic circumstances and the responsibility he felt for his people, had personally supervised her healing, spending the uncertain hours where her life, which had been too short even by the standards of mortals, hung in the balance, even going so far to wipe her brow and softly yet fervently whisper for the child to keep fighting.

There was something about such a small, broken thing that drew Thranduil in. He, who had hid his feelings for so long after his own tragic loss, was overtaken the desperate feeling of watching such a small flame flicker and fight for survival even though everything she had ever known was lost. He, after all, remembered being in a similar situation when the dragonfire of Gundabad had claimed everything that he held dear, save one. He was determined to give this child, who was so very small and so much more innocent than he had been at the time of his struggle, the knowledge that should she choose to fight and survive, she would have something to return to.

In the back of his mind that same voice that had told him that to survive was to be numb, whispered to him that this was a dangerous endeavor, yet he couldn't bring himself to care when he looked at Tauriel's battered and broken body as she lay in her sickbed. Still, when she made it safely through the night and his healers assured him that she would make a full recovery, he withdrew and returned to his usual duties, though he never truly stopped watching her. When she wakes, she has no memory of her arrival—only flashes of terror and violence that she tries to put from her mind and then, the memory of a voice and a pair of vibrant blue eyes whispering for her to fight.

Soon, when the small elleth was given a clean bill of health and it was time to decide what to do with the orphaned child, it was the king who decided that she would stay in the palace rather than be sent back to a foster family in the country and for that, Tauriel would always be grateful.

At court, she was given opportunities that a Silvan elf from the country could only dream of—a life of relative luxury and ease and an education only the highest-born elves could ever dream of. Aware of the rareness of her circumstances, Tauriel did everything she could to prove her thanks, although she rarely saw the one who had made it possible. Still, she often felt a pair of icy, sky blue eyes following her and, remembering a time when they were the only thing urging her to fight and stay in this world, she always felt comforted by the gaze.

As she grew older, she saw the king less and less, and so, when it is time for her to ask him for the one thing she has ever asked for, she finds herself filled with icy dread at the prospect. A familiar voice in the back of her head whispers that she must fight, and so, she steels herself and enters the throne room with her head held high. Though she has never approached the king in his throne room before, his guards move from the doors and allow her to pass without question.

Once she passes through the doors, she hangs back under the intricately carved archways, attempting to gather her courage. The king alone in the chamber, pacing below his throne, which is in a way both a blessing and a curse. It means no one will witness her embarrassment should she fail, but it also means that she is acutely aware of being alone.

After a brief moment that feels to her like an eternity, the king speaks.

"I know you are there," he drawls and Tauriel is stuck by how shockingly familiar his rich voice is to her ears. "Come forward."

Startled into action, she briskly walks forward and drops to her knees in a bow in front of him.

"My lord," she greets, her voice slightly strangled sounding to her own ears with her nerves.

"Tauriel, a surprise. What brings you here?" he asks firmly, though not unkindly.

"I would ask a favor of you, my lord," she replies formally.

"Go on," she hears him say, though she still does not look up from where she kneels on the ground.

"I wish to train to join the guard."

At her admission, the king stops pacing and she feels his eyes on her, more intensely than when she had first arrived.

"It is a dangerous choice, Tauriel. The life of a soldier is not an easy one. Would you throw your life away so easily?"

"I know, my lord," she says, finally looking up, though not at him. "I am grateful for everything that I have been given here at court, yet I wish to give something back, if you'd allow me. I know, better than most, what lurks out there in the world. If I can stop just one attack, it will be worth it."

As she explains, Thranduil can't help but notice how her eyes light up with passion as she explains and her voice gets stronger. Yes, this is what she truly wants, and if he's honest with himself, he knows that he should have expected it. He has lived for many hundreds of years and knows from all that time that once one has encountered the truth of what is truly out there in the world, there is no turning back. He only regrets that with Tauriel, it happened so young and that she never really knew a world without a shadow…but those are sentimental thoughts that he does not have time for. While Tauriel is not a naïve innocent, Thranduil still cannot bear the idea of her loosing what small amount of innocence she has left, if he spends the time to truly think about it. And yet, he must acknowledge, it is her choice.

Once she finishes with her speech, Tauriel's gaze quickly returns to floor, examining the stone as if it holds the secrets of the universe while she waits. Thranduil can almost taste her anxiety as he moves to stand directly in front of her, fine leather boots obscuring the edges of her examination and causing her to look up and directly at him for the first time in years.

"I see you have given this proper thought," he says, beckoning her to her feet.

She swiftly obliges, although even fully grown and standing, her petite frame is still no match for his imposing height.

"If this is what you truly want, then you have my blessing. If you choose to give your life to Mirkwood, then I will give you the gift of truth," he continues. "You will have to prove yourself, though, even more than the rest. You have been sheltered from the prejudices of some of the kingdom, but you will have to prove yourself first as a Silvan and then as a female."

He can tell that this has shocked her, but he also can see the steely reserve of strength behind her eyes as she takes this in.

"But there are many Silvans in the guard already, my lord," she responds, eyes flashing.

"Yes, there are," Thranduil concedes, "but very have rises to the rank of captain," he admits, leaving the implications of his words and the weight of his expectations unsaid. Her eyes widen in surprise.

Then, Thranduil isn't really sure what makes him do it, but he steps forward, even closer to the young elleth and reaches his hand under her chin, forcing her bright green eyes to meet his icily blue ones for the first time in years.

"Tauriel, you will have to fight," he says, somehow more serious than before, and suddenly, she makes the connection between the voice and the familiar pair of eyes from her childhood and the ellon standing in front of her.

Her eyes widen in shock before her determination returns and as she meets his gaze without fear and responds, "Always, my lord."

And with that, he releases her chin and she is dismissed from his presence, free to start her training as part of the guard the next morning.


	2. Chapter 2

The training, Tauriel discovers, is even harder than she had envisioned, yet still, she soldiers on. For every ten males, there is only one female in the guard and almost none are Silvan like herself. She soon learns that Thranduil was telling her the truth—there is no outright animosity towards her, yet some of the older guards regard her with skeptical gazes and cooler attitudes, clearly doubting her capabilities.

When numbers of new recruits start to drop out and end training, male and female alike, Tauriel remembers the king's words and fights on, proving herself time and time again. It helps that Legolas is right there beside her, as he had been since her childhood, making lighthearted jokes through even the most grueling training regimens and standing up for her when old prejudices come to light. They support each other, trading tips and tricks for archery and hand-to-hand combat.

She finds it comforting, although not as comforting as the pair of blue eyes that she occasionally feels, watching her from a distance.

(If Legolas ever noticed his father's attention to his friend, he would always chalk it up to Tauriel having the king's favor until he had lived enough to know better.)

During her training, Tauriel grows strong, hard work and training molding her into a formidable warrior. She does not see the king except in general assemblies and at feasts, yet when it is time for her induction into the guard, she feels his eyes linger on her while he presides over the ceremony. When it comes time for her to swear her oath of fealty, her green eyes lock with his blue and she can see a sense of pride in them, lurking behind his carefully cultivated façade of regal detachment, much to her own elation.

She returns to her chambers after the festivities in celebration of the occasion, smiling at the memories of the night and the new family she has fashioned for herself out of other recruits in the guard. When she reaches her bed, she notices a unique and intricately carved bow and quiver laid out on it, fashioned perfectly to fit her smaller stature. She picks it up and marvels at how much it feels like an extension of her own self and sees a note flutter from it. She picks it up, drawing closer to the candlelight to read.

 _Fight, Tauriel_ , it reads in an elegantly curved script. There is no signature, though she knows whom it is from. She drifts off to sleep with a soft smile and dreams of blue eyes that night, though she would forget it as soon as she wakes up.

Over the next few decades, fight is exactly what Tauriel does, performing her duties as a soldier with a deadly efficiency and inventiveness that leads even the most old fashioned of her superiors to admit that she is a shining star in the ranks of the guard and with such glowing recommendations, it is easy to see why one orphaned Silvan elf would gain the king's favor, especially with Legolas' unwavering support. She rises quickly in the ranks until her name is put forth as deserving of the captaincy and the king's prophecy is fulfilled, with her earning the position of the youngest captain of the guard in history.

On the day of her oath swearing, Tauriel rises early and dresses with particular care, drawing on one of the uniforms signifying her new rank. There is nothing exceedingly special about the deep green and durable leather vambraces of her clothing, it is of slightly finer quality than her uniforms before and expertly tailored to her own form. She can't help but take a moment to admire the quality as she painstakingly plaits her hair, using a bit more care than usual. Since joining the guard, she has had little occasion to wear the fine gowns of the ladies of the court, and, in fact, owns only a few actual gowns, but she can't help but feel that it is in clothes like this that she feels most herself.

She wonders briefly if her parents would be proud of their daughter, but, struck with a sudden, unavoidable sadness at the thought that they are gone and she alone, she channels her emotions into her resolve and heads for the throne room, where she will swear her second oath to the king and accept her new position in front of a small audience of councilors and high ranking guard members, as well as Prince Legolas. Never one for ceremony and formality, Tauriel is glad that her closest friend will by there—having at least one person there who actually cares for her somehow seems more important now than any other time she could remember.

Just as she is about to leave her chambers, she throws open the door only to find an expected sight—the king, standing before her, arms poised as if he had been waiting to knock.

"My lord," she greets in surprise, dipping down into a small bow at his presence, "I was just about to make my way to the ceremony."

"I can see," he replies dryly, eyes sparkling slightly with something that Tauriel might have recognized as amusement had she known him better.

He takes the opportunity to lower and cross his arms in front of him, eyebrows raised as if he is appraising her—and in a way, he is. He, too, notices how well her new uniform seems to suit her, the color perfectly matching her eyes and, though its purpose is for stealth in the forest, complimenting her bright, flaming hair that is so rare among the Eldar. Daughter of the Forest indeed, he thinks, noticing that she is beautiful without silk gowns and gems. _And still_ …

"Is there something you need from me, my lord?" Tauriel asks from where she stands just inside the doorway, puzzled tone interrupting his wandering thoughts.

"No, there is not," he replies. "I had rather hoped to speak to you before the ceremony," he adds, making a gesture with his hand to suggest they move inside of her chambers.

As king, he has no need to ask permission to enter a space in his own halls, though he still feels a small sense of apprehension, as if he might still need her permission to enter her personal space, but he bats the thought away as foolishness the minute it occurs to him.

"I—yes, please, do come in," she sputters, moving aside to let him pass.

As Thranduil steps in to the main portion of her chambers, Tauriel watches as he pauses and takes in the room as if it were an unexplored land. The thought strikes her that in her many years residing among his court, the king has never had reason to visit her room and she wonders what his observations are revealing.

His eyes linger slightly longer on the small bookcase she has next to her wardrobe, scanning the tomes she has collected there and she feels a slight prickle of embarrassment when she notices his eyes rake over the desk by the window, which is strewn with a disorganized pile of books, some half open, scraps of parchment, a quill, and the only half cleared away remnants of the arrow fletching she had done earlier that week—something Legolas had taught her. Her embarrassment fades quickly as the king, done with his short explorations, turns around to face her, regarding her with all the formality of the throne room, despite their less regal location.

"Today is rather big day for you," he starts.

"I had noticed, my lord," she interjects wryly, unable to stop herself. She braces herself for the king's displeasure, but finds that he is regarding her with slight amusement instead. She takes a breath of relief and allows him to continue.

"If it had managed to slip your notice, I might have had to reconsider my choice of appointing you captain," he says, smiling slightly. "As it is, I have something for you to commemorate the achievement," he continues, reaching into one of the deep pockets of the silver brocade robe he is wearing and removing a small, carved wooden box.

Tauriel stares as he holds it out to her. While it is not unprecedented for the king to give gifts to those in his service in honor of a job well done, she somehow doubts that it is usual for the king to deliver them personally in such private an environment.

"I merely do my duty, my lord—I do not deserve it," she stammers in surprise, not moving to accept the gift.

"Tauriel," Thranduil responds gravely, meeting her eyes for the first time in years, "you have done exceptionally over the years. Would you overturn your king's judgment?"

Under the weight of his gaze, she says the only thing she can manage while she reaches out, taking the box from his grasp, "No, my lord."

The box is more intricately carved than she had previously thought, she notices, full of swirling vines and antlers. She sees that her name has been carved on the top and runs her fingers over it before removing the hinged lid and peering inside. What she finds there, is enough to make her gasp, eyes widening as she takes in the king's generosity.

There, sparkling against the rich, navy-velvet interior, is a necklace. A pendant, really, she corrects, dangling from a thin silver chain and small enough that it would be virtually undetected with her uniform unless one knew it was there. The pendant itself is small, made up of a single white gem in the shape of a flower—or star, it suddenly occurs to her—and surrounded by what she first perceived as delicate silver vines. Upon closer inspection, she sees that she is mistaken—what she thought of as vines were really antlers, the Elvenking's symbol unmistakable up close, surrounding and supporting the stone.

At this realization, Tauriel glances up at the king in equal parts shock and wonder, seeing that he has been watching her reaction intently.

"Does it please you?" the king questions in a surprisingly soft voice.

"It is perfect," she breathes, meeting his eyes. "I am not worthy."

Not taking his eyes off of her, Thranduil reaches out, taking the box from her. He plucks the necklace from it and sets it amidst the chaos on the desk beside him. Expertly opening the clasp, he takes moves towards her and behind, draping the pendent around her neck and fastening the bright silver chain over the thick sheet of her copper tresses. He lets the pendant fall slack, reaching to move her hair out from underneath the chain. As he does, he can't help but notice exactly how soft her hair is—like silk, he thinks—and take in the faint, floral scent left behind from her soap. For the shortest instant, his hand, acting on its own accord, lingers on the fiery strands, examining the rare shade that has not been seen in elves since the days of the ancients.

He comes back to himself quickly, though, and moves his hands to rest on her shoulders in a more suitable gesture of approval. He is not her family, he knows, but for some reason inexplicable to himself, he wants to make sure that she has someone there to support her—it is one reason why he is pleased that the flame-haired elleth has become such a close confidant of his son, regardless of the difference in social standing. Like his father before him, Thranduil has long since given up thoughts of rank and prejudices among elves, and both she and Legolas could use the companionship, he reasons, although in this rare moment, his son is inexplicably far from his mind.

"Today, you have proven that you are," he states, voice sounding closer to Tauriel's ear than she had thought, causing her to let out a slow breath that she didn't realize she was holding.

At his words, she feels her stomach perform a feat of previously unknown acrobatics and faintly hears a beating in her ears that sounds suspiciously like her heart, though she dismisses it immediately as nerves for the occasion, which she has been feeling since news of her new appointment had reached her. The king's palms rest heavy on her shoulders, yet the pressure is steadying rather than suffocating and she finds herself feeling unpredictably anchored under the weight. It occurs to Tauriel why Mirkwood finds such solace in their king, who emanated an air of ancient steadfastness.

"Keep fighting, Tauriel," he adds softly, releasing her and moving towards the door.

"Of course," Tauriel responds with a small bow as he pauses and looks back over his shoulder at where she stands in the middle of the room. As he leaves and closes the door softly behind him, Tauriel curses as she realizes that she forgot to use his title.

The realization acts as a catalyst, causing Tauriel to wake up from the spell that Thranduil's gift had cast. Glancing out of her window at where the sun hangs in the sky, she realizes that she has a ceremony to get to and somehow, she doubts that being late to her own oath swearing is the way to promote faith in her first acts as captain of the guard. She hurries to the throne room at a brisk pace, fingering her new necklace as she goes and thinking that while she doesn't have family of her own there to see her, she at least has something in Thranduil and Legolas.

The ceremony finalizing her appointment to the captaincy is much like the ceremony where she swore her oath the kingdom upon joining the guard, with its air of solemnity and pomp, although with just her swearing her oath rather than the countless new recruits to the guard, it goes markedly faster than she remembers.

Legolas gazes at her with approval and laughter in his smiling blue eyes, knowing how much she hates the formality of moments such as this. Their character is so different from his father's, yet she cannot help but feel comforted at his presence and return his smile before schooling her face in the stoic formality for which the occasion calls.

When it comes time for her to speak, she goes down on bended knee with her beloved blades and bow, swearing on her life and everything she holds true to defend Mirkwood and its king for the second time in her life, she realizes that she is in the very spot where she first approached him to ask permission to enter the guard. The poetry is not lost on her and when she raises her head to look at where Thranduil sits on his throne as he nods and formally accepts her pledge, she briefly meets his familiar eyes, and sees that shrouded behind a veil of formality, she is not alone in this realization.

When she rises, now as one of the highest-ranking elves in the kingdom and the king wishes her the blessings of the Valar upon her new office, as custom dictates, Tauriel even thinks she detects a hint of pride in his eyes and a smile on his face. She sees his gaze flicker briefly to where his gift glistens on her neck, though later she convinces herself that perhaps she had only imagined it.

In this moment, she makes a silent promise to herself that she will not disappoint him.

Author's note: Hi Guys! Thanks to everyone who reads this story, it's been great to see your feedback and support! This is part II in what will be a short story that popped into my head when I saw an up close picture of Tauriel's necklace from the Hobbit movies. I hope you enjoy it and, please, feel free to leave a review telling my what you think! Also, customary disclaimer-I own absolutely nothing except for a few pairs of shoes and some empty bottle of wine I should probably throw out. Enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

Tauriel settles into her new role as Mirkwood's Captain of the Guard with what seems to others as practiced ease, although as her closest companion and confidant, Legolas is aware that the transition is not without its trials and tribulations for the redheaded elleth, and a small voice in the back of Tauriel's head whispers that the king must somehow know this as well. While it was one thing for the various commanders and recruits to accept that a female of common standing could be an exceptionally talented member of the guard, it is quite another when it comes to the same highborn elves taking orders and trusting her judgment as their captain.

Ever remembering the king's words, she fights on and soon, the word _fight_ becomes like a talisman. She clings to the words as some might a precious stone or beloved treasure and feels herself repeating them like a mantra every time she touches the pendant hanging from her neck.

Fighting soon becomes what she does best and she, slowly, yet surely, earns the respect of her subordinates until even the most stubborn respect her decisions and her instincts. In a decade—a rapid amount of time for the Eldar—she has amassed the support of the entire kingdom—a feat, she gathers, is only helped by the fact that the Prince is counted among her biggest supporters, though she does not know that the king is counted chiefly among them as well.

During her captaincy, Tauriel sees more and more of the prince, who has taken more and more of an interest in his royal responsibilities in the guard now that his best friend has been made the captain. Legolas, frustrated with the formalities and obligations of his princely duties within his father's halls joins her almost constantly on her patrols and sweeps of the forest, throwing himself enthusiastically into the life of a soldier and helping Tauriel with strategy and the burdens of leadership.

His relationship with the king is almost always strained at this point in his life, and while Tauriel never pries, she has known him long enough to be able to sense when the prince is restless or unhappy. Grateful for the company and glad to spend her days fighting alongside her closest friend, Tauriel allows him to find comfort in the forest instead, although she notices that whenever they return to the palace and he has been to see the king, Legolas' eyes begin to take on the cold, emotionally detached formality of his father, which she feels is somehow wrong for her lighthearted friend. Eager to keep Legolas as content as possible, she encourages his dalliances in the forest, oblivious to the fact that he has also begun to find distraction in the growing feelings he harbors for her.

Tauriel's own interactions with the king are remarkably different than her friend's, although these too take time for her to get used to. As a commander, she had often had to give reports on any patrols lead or actions she over saw to her superiors, yet as captain, she is now required to give them directly to the king—a prospect that terrifies and thrills her in equal parts.

While it cannot be said that the king and the captain had had no prior experiences in interacting with each other, Tauriel somehow feels as if her past experiences with Thranduil are something altogether strange and private, and following his lead, keeps them very much separate from her duties to him as his appointed captain, save for the occasional meeting of the eyes.

These encounters, which happen so rarely that Tauriel puts them from her mind until they occur again, often years apart, are never mentioned between the two of them and, perhaps even more surprisingly, become one of the only aspects of her life in Mirkwood that she conceals from Legolas, although it is through no active decision of her own. It simply does not occur to Tauriel that there is anything to share and some small, quiet voice in the back of her mind enjoys having something of her own in a life so willingly dedicated to serving the kingdom.

Her first encounters with the king in her new capacity as his captain of the guard are stilted and formal for Tauriel, as if, in ignoring their previous meetings, they are wiping out all personal history and starting from scratch. In truth, Tauriel is not quite sure how she is now supposed to act in front of the king, and, taking her cue from his mask of formal indifference, tries to match it by crafting her own mask of dispassionate professionalism.

Their first year of meetings carry on through a veneer of courtesy in which Tauriel feels more as if she is only an actress, pretending to play the part of captain of the guard in one of the court plays the king sometimes commissioned to be performed on feast days along with the singing and dancing of which the wood elves were so fond. Tauriel, who had never once been reserved or dispassionate in her entire existence, has to admit it is a feeling she likes not, and, in the early days of her tenure, she often finds more peace and joy in the forest with Legolas, steadily ridding Mirkwood of the spawn of Ungoliant that steadily crept across its borders. Hunting spiders, at least, was something she could easily understand.

What Tauriel does not know is that the king is as just as frustrated with their meetings as she. While he had not had the chance to spend so much time with Tauriel before, he has watched and heard enough to know that her formal behavior is not normal for his new captain, who, as a commander and soldier before that, had never ceased to cause her superiors to remark that she had a passion as fiery as her hair and a stubborn streak so deeply ingrained that it occasionally bordered on insubordination in their reviews of her character. That was the captain that he had appointed and, while she commands the guard with a skill few her age could possess and maintains her passion in field, he had hoped that she would bring her convictions to her reports, providing some contrast from the obsequiousness cluster of the advisors which surrounded him day in and day out.

Still, there was something about her nervousness that amuses him slightly and, though he longs for her honesty, he staunchly feels that she must conquer her nerves and navigate her new position herself—he wants her to fight for it, in short. Because of this, Thranduil does not go out of his way to make their interactions any easier for her—in fact, he does quite the opposite, seemingly receiving her news of Mirkwood's security with indifferent and uncaring ears until Tauriel can bear it no more.

Tauriel's veneer of dispassionate professionalism slowly begins to erode after weeks of brutal patrols near the kingdom's borders. The guard has been tracking the movements of a group of spiders for days; always close on their trail, yet never quite catching them. The tracking was hard, frustrating work and the guard sends out patrols, consisting of only of one commander and three soldiers to combat them—the groups are small, yet the number had been so ordered by the king some decades ago when Mirkwood more closely resembled the Greenwood of the past; sending larger groups out on patrol was seen as an excessive at best and an unwarranted risk of elven life at worst.

Tauriel, who is a great deal younger than the king, has only ever known Mirkwood, with its small pockets gloom and danger, yet she loves it all the same. She often feels free in the forest, as she had been born there before she came to the Elvenking's halls at so tragic and age, although in the time that she has been serving the kingdom as captain, she has been able to read the signs and recognize that things are growing darker and more dangerous outside of Thranduil's palace.

With the gloom and corruption come the spiders and the roving bands of orcs, Tauriel knows, as well as a great many evils which she does not and could not imagine (though Thranduil, having witnessed and lost those he loved to one of the greatest evils, remembers enough for the entirety of his people).

Tauriel has seen her soldiers return exhausted from their increasingly more surmounting duties, faces grim in the knowledge that any of the progress that they have made will be seemingly futile when they embark out the next time and meet even more signs of corruption in their woodland home.

She, too, is filled with the same, desperate sense of helpless frustration as she returns and, upon giving her reports to the king, who receives them with an impassive face, and orders no new changes to their defenses. It is well known in the kingdom that Thranduil is a king of tradition who has never failed his people, although at this point, Tauriel feels that he is bordering on foolishness—a thought that she reprimands herself for having on the grounds that it is treasonous…though the thought occurs, nonetheless. She is a soldier, she tells herself, and soldiers obey the wills of their kings. That is her purpose, she tells herself—yet, a small, treasonous voice in the back of her head whispers on, asking, "at what cost?"

Tauriel does not see that Thranduil has taken notice of her frustration, although he has done nothing to alleviate it. One does not grow to be as old an elon as the king without being able to detect the growing darkness in the world, after all. And so, he waits, eager to see if his young captain will rise to the heights he knows she is capable, or instead prove to be still another case the impossibly high standards he has come to expect from those he favors. What Tauriel does not realize (and Thranduil does not even fully admit to himself) is the extent to which he is rooting for her success.

The day that Tauriel unknowingly chooses her path as captain comes after she returns from a particularly punishing patrol, which she had led herself—the group consisting of herself, Legolas, and two other soldiers. They had thought that it would be another day of merely tracking the spiders, trying to find their nest, as ordered, and had set out with light hearts and laughter, as the members of the guard had long ago discovered that this was the best way to keep the growing darkness in the forest from taking hold in their hearts.

Everything was quiet and according to routine until the unimaginable occurs just as one of the guards challenges the others to a race, laughter evident in his voice and eyes shining with mirth—that was, until one of the largest spiders any of them had ever seen blotted out the patch of sun he was standing in as it dropped down from the tree tops, pincers piercing his armor sinking into his flesh right where his neck met his shoulder.

Tauriel had just enough time to raise her bow and fire one lethal shot into the spider's multitude of glittering eyes before more and more of the foul beasts descended on them from above.

"It's an ambush!" she remembers shouting in both distaste and surprise as her fellow soldier sank to the ground in pain, poison coursing through his veins—the rest becomes a blur of adrenaline, noise, and the chaos of fighting for their lives.

In the end, her patrol manages to wipe out the majority of the beasts, many, in part due to the prince's uncommon skill with his bow, although Tauriel added an impressive number of arachnids to the death count with her daggers, as well. Much to their dismay, a small number of the spiders had sensed defeat and skittered away before death could come to them. The group returns to the palace alive, though bloodied and with one of their number paralyzed and fighting for his life thanks to the spider's venom.

Adrenaline still coursing through her, Tauriel feels a bit guilty for enjoying the rush of battle as she heads from the infirmary where she had left her injured comrade and heads to the throne room to give her report. Legolas is walking, unscathed, beside her and she feels an additional twinge of guilt for feeling relief at this too. She knows, though, that had her patrol been larger, the ambush, though unheard of for the spiders to organize, would not have been as dangerous as it was. In addition, she thinks, mind racing the way it always does in the wake of combat, more patrol groups would have kept the spiders scattered and in smaller groups, preventing the possibility of an ambush of this size before the idea can even fully take root.

With a sigh, she resigns herself to giving news of the attack to the king, who she knows will share her displeasure—though this, she knows, may be aimed at her for failing to notice they were being set upon. A captain, she tells herself, she should have done better.

As if sensing her own nerves and disappointment, the prince settles a hand on her shoulder and gives the captain a smile as she pauses at the door to the king's chambers, taking a deep breath before she heads inside.

"It will be okay, Tauriel," he says with reassurance as she meets his eyes. Even after the danger they had just faced, Legolas still maintains an optimistic expression, she notices and cannot help but take comfort in that small fact.

"The king will not be pleased," she replies with certainty, her own eyes clouded with worry at both delivering the news and for the safety of their people despite her friend's efforts. At the mention of his father, Legolas' eyes loose just a bit of their lightheartedness, as if closing off from the world.

The sight fills Tauriel with even more worry and sadness for her friend. Perhaps because she, herself, has no parents, it saddens her to think that Legolas' relationship with his own father is so turbulent lately, although perhaps turbulent isn't the word—it is cold, she amends, realizing the truth in the words for the first time—their relationship is cold.

Growing less cold the more he looks into Tauriel's eyes (something which Tauriel also, though she dismisses it as nothing more than friendship), Legolas smiles at her again and repeats, "It will be okay," before giving her shoulder a slight, comforting squeeze and leaving her to make her report.

As the prince walks away, Tauriel opens the door and silently slips into the throne room, exhaustion seeping into her bones with every step. Taking a breath and readying herself for the king's presence, Tauriel pauses for just a minute, though she knows she should not.

"I know you are there, Captain," she hears the King's voice call, frustratingly detecting her presence, as he never fails to do, the moment she steps into the chambers.

As she steps into the main part of the room, to where Thranduil stands below his throne, the king must bite back a gasp of shock and concern as he sees his captain.

Her uniform has a small tear on her left sleeve and is a mess, covered in a thin layer of mud and filth that also spatters her face and hands in parts. Her hair, which he knows has the texture of smoothest silk, is usually sleekly contained in her signature braids (daintily feminine, yet practical for the life of a warrior, she insists), yet is now distinctly disheveled—a few fine, fire-red strands hanging uncharacteristically messily and framing her pale face, which is marred with a thin gash along her cheekbone with a small, thin trail of dried blood issuing from it.

When she comes before him and stoops into the customary bow in front of him, Thranduil notes that her exhaustion is evident even in her stance—her body dangling limply along as if she is a marionette and the only thing holding her upright is a single, vital string connected to her spine.

Thranduil had known that it was growing more and more dangerous in his forest and he knew that one day soon, his new captain would have to face the growing evil, yet that knowledge still did not prevent the older, more deeply ingrained impulse to protect Tauriel, which he had felt since her arrival in his halls those many years ago. Still, this, he knew, was a part of the life she had chosen and her brief time as guard captain had been leading up to this point—how she would decide to deal with it was now wholly in her own hands. Which is why Thranduil, instead of reaching out and wiping the blood and dirt off of her face as his long-buried instincts were telling him, stares down at his bedraggled captain with an expression of cool indifference, as if she were not standing in front of him looking as if she had just escaped the clutches of Morgoth. After an impatient beat of silence in which Tauriel does nothing to begin her report, Thranduil raises one of his surprisingly expressive eyebrows and speaks first.

"Is there anything to report, Captain, or are you just going to remain standing there, dripping dirt and blood on my floor?" he drawls, voice dry and disinterested.

At this, Tauriel raises her chin from where it had dropped during her small bow, looking at the king for the first time since she entered his presence. She takes in his appearance, which is resplendent as always. Today he is garbed in a blue-gold tunic of highest quality, both flowing and fitted in equal measure to accentuate his lithe, yet strong appearance—she cannot help but notice—trousers, and fine, leather boots. On his head of smooth, ice-blonde hair sits his crown of berries and leaves, as it is autumn once again. Something about his unchanging regality brings Tauriel back to herself just a bit, and, after a steadying breath, she finds her voice.

"Apologies, my lord, it has been an eventful day," she begins, her mask of professionalism back in place.

"Please do explain, Captain," Thranduil entreats, internally frowning a bit at Tauriel's façade. Dispassion does not suit her, he thinks, though he fails to recognize the inherent irony in the situation.

At the king's insistence, Tauriel begins to explain the situation, as objectively and impassively as always, looking anywhere but the king's face, though she cannot quite keep the traces of emotion from her voice as she gets to the part about her soldier's laugh being cut off by a grunt of pain and is unable to mask from Thranduil the guilt and responsibility she feels that one of her men is now fighting for his life in the infirmary.

 _So, it has come to this_ , Thranduil thinks as his captain finishes her report, head bent and staring listlessly at the ground once again. He almost feels sorry for what he knows must come next, but still, it must be done. He has to see if she will _fight_ , he reasons, pushing the regret away.

"One injured guard," he remarks, staring at Tauriel, "it is a rather fair price to pay for exterminating such a number of the fell beasts. You are dismissed," he says breezily, as if it is no pressing matter, yet his entire body is tensed beneath the surface of his feigned indifference, waiting.

At these words, Tauriel's head reflexively whips up from its subservient position staring at the floor, loose strands of hair clouding parts of her vision, though she barely notices in her fury.

She is beyond exhausted—she has faced more foes at one time today than she has ever before, with a number of guards who have been run ragged into the ground due something as trivial as traditional patrol limitations, a life she was responsible for is now hanging in the balance, fending off the effects of a deadly poison from a sickbed, and the king has the gall to write this all off as a fair price, ignoring any needs for change. A strong, fiery anger courses through her veins at the remark, making her forget her own fatigue and shattering the mask of cool professionalism that she strove to project, though she is beyond caring about that now.

"His name is Merethor," she responds in a fierce voice that Thranduil has never heard issue from her mouth before, eyes flashing like green fire as they meet his own.

"And this is relevant because?" he queries, fighting back a pleased smirk as he sees her the fiery wave of determination take hold in Tauriel's eyes.

"His name is Merethor," she repeats, voice slightly louder with conviction, "and he is relevant because he risked his life for the safety of your kingdom."

"A noble gesture," the king replies in a bored tone, although he is anything but, "yet it seems to me as if his own foolishness is the cause of his state. Perhaps if he were more careful, he would be enjoying the evening in the company of his fellows in the dining hall now instead of lying in an infirmary bed, do you not agree, Captain?" he prods, knowing it will provoke her further. Though he knows that he should not rejoice in Tauriel's anger, it is such a welcome respite from her usual emotionless reports that he cannot help but revel in its freshness.

"The guard is exhausted, my lord, myself among them. We chase orcs and hunt spiders all day, and yet nothing seems to come of it. We our wearing ourselves thin!" she explodes in response, voice growing even more impassioned as she finishes, looking desperately at the king.

"And yet, is this not what you signed on for? Is this not what all members of the guard pledged in their oaths? If the position of captain is too much for you, Tauriel, then you are free to leave it. There is no shame in admitting the job is beyond you. Perhaps you will find yourself better suited in the life of a healer or a courtier," Thranduil trails, meeting her passion with apathy, clasping his hands behind his back and beginning to pace as if Tauriel no longer holds his attention. He knows that his words are cruel and cold, yet feels they must be said.

The choice now lies before her, and, reading the pure rage that his words have brought to his captain's face, he is confident that she will choose correctly.

"Yes, my lord, it is, and it is what I choose each and every day that I put on my uniform. I choose to be a warrior and nothing else, my king. I am perfectly capable of my post—perhaps even the most capable among those you command," Tauriel replies, conviction shining through in her every word, stripping away the arrogance that might have accompanied them should anyone else have uttered the same sentiment.

"Then what would you have me do, Captain?" Thranduil asks with a hint of respect, pausing in his steps to glance at her over his shoulder from where he stands next to a small pool of water meant for reflection.

"The guard is skilled and loyal, my lord, but what we need is greater numbers. The dangers to the realm grow greater every day and we cannot hope to combat them with such small patrols," she says, feeling a sense of relief as she finally communicates something she has been thinking for weeks, not caring anymore if it is overstepping her role.

At this, the king ceases his pacing and turns his attention fully on her, weighing the value of her suggestion and considering it with a seriousness that she had not even hoped for. Finally, after he coming to his own silent decision, he looks up at Tauriel and speaks.

"And you would go against centuries of tradition that has served us well in the past?" he questions slowly; meeting her eyes as he does so and letting the words hang in the air between them.

Under the weight of his pale blue gaze, Tauriel is silent for a second, considering his words. Thranduil notices how one of her hands unconsciously drifts towards the pendent hanging around her neck, touching it lightly as if for support, before her gaze, which had turned introspective, snaps back to his own and he can read the unwavering confidence in her eyes.

"Yes, my lord," she says simply, voice clear and strong in her decision.

"I agree," Thranduil says with a nod, surprising her with the ease of his acceptance. "Double the numbers of soldiers on patrols and send them out with more frequency as you see fit."

"Thank you, my lord," Tauriel replies, elated despite the feeling of exhaustion that has seeped back into her bones. Finally dismissing herself with a bow, she pauses when the king's voice calls her back.

"Sometimes, Tauriel, it is good to question tradition," he says, more softly than he has spoken to her since the day he had appeared unexpectedly at her door. "You have done well today," Thranduil adds with approval and Tauriel feels as if she has passed a sort of test.

The character of their exchange changes completely with the king's admission. Gone is the formal report between a king and his captain, replaced with the feeling of familiarity Tauriel always receives when she feels a pair of familiar, pale blue eyes watching her from afar.

"It is my fault Merethor is injured," she responds with utter seriousness, and, unable to stop herself even if she tried, Tauriel meets his pale gaze without giving it a thought.

As she says it, Thranduil steps towards her, feeling as if it is fitting for this slightly more personal conversation. Hearing the guilt in her voice, he can fight it no longer and reaches out to brush the grime and blood off of the captain's cheek.

"These things happen, Tauriel," he says sympathetically, letting his hand linger on her cheek as he meets her gaze. "He will recover."

Tauriel gives no outward indication of the strangeness of his action and merely nods at the king's words, maintaining her study of his blue gaze. She had always thought of his eyes like ice before, but she sees that they are more like the pastel blue of the sky in this moment. She feels as if something powerful is passing between them, though at this point in time neither she nor Thranduil are able to acknowledge what.

"You must continue to fight, even as captain. You are now equal parts warrior and advisor," Thranduil explains and Tauriel feels his eyes fall to her necklace as he says it, as if he knows the words she repeats to herself when she touches it like a talisman. "If you do not question tradition, then who will? Remember that, Tauriel," he adds with finality, dropping his hand and stepping away from her.

He looks at her in appraisal as he does so, nodding once in curt approval as she responds with a soft, "Yes, my lord," taking his advice to heart and walking away with a small bow.

Shaking off the lingering seriousness of the conversation as she exits the throne room, Tauriel feels somehow lighter and more joyful despite the occurrences of the day as she heads to the guards dining hall to catch up with some of her soldiers.

Her spirits are further lifted when she takes a seat next to the prince, who cheerfully informs her that Merethor is now awake and out of danger, although he will have to stay in the infirmary for another few days while the poison is fully flushed from his system. She and Legolas join Hwindir, the remaining member of their patrol, in sneaking cakes to him in the infirmary, much to the healers' dismay.

Days pass, which turn into weeks and months and then years and centuries, as elven lives go, and Tauriel and the king continue with their tradition of never mentioning the handful of intimate moments, for lack of a better term, that have passed between them. Neither one of them spare much time or thought on the occurrences, writing them off as merely being in the king's favor, as Legolas has done for years.

Still, the words are not forgotten and Tauriel grows more comfortable in her role as captain, taking joy in her interactions this the king, which have now grown from factual, emotionless reports to impassioned debates about which defensive measures are best for the kingdom.

Though Thranduil changes only a few of their isolationist traditions, he cannot help but admire and respect the fire and passion Tauriel has for pushing her more progressive reforms. He never admits it, even to himself, but his daily meetings with Tauriel become a bright spot in his days, which after the years of cutting himself off from any sort of emotion in order to survive, cause a subtle shift within him, if only for the moments that she is there, questioning his policies. It is impossible to be around one so vibrant and not absorb a small bit of it, he reasons.

What he cannot explain away is the admiration he begins to hold for his captain, so he does not try. As she argues for changes she feels particularly passionate about, he cannot help but notice the fire in her eyes as she argues and how well-matched her rare, fiery tresses are for her personality, not to mention the striking contrast between the deep color of her hair and the ivory paleness of her skin.

When he catches himself in the midst of these thoughts, Thranduil merely passes them off as making observations—he is not blind, after all, and it is a fact that his captain is beautiful. Not noticing would be an even stranger occurrence, and it is not as if he has not noticed any beauty at all since his world came to a crashing halt after the events in Gundabad.

What Thranduil fails to realize is that emotions, unlike his subjects, are not something he can order around as his mood so strikes, and the ones that he has unknowingly been associating with Captain Tauriel will open the door for other, long-forgotten sentiments and prove more troublesome than he had ever imagined as he sat by her sickbed and willed the tiny elleth back to health when she had first arrived in his halls, feeling something for someone besides Legolas for the first time in years.

When the time comes that these emotions can no longer be contained behind even his own most well-practiced and resilient veneer, neither the king nor the captain are quite prepared for the consequences.

Author's Note: Hi guys! I'm absolutely thrilled at the number of likes and lovely comments this story has gotten. You guys really know how to make a first time writer feel the love! Finally, after about a week of struggling and trying to get these characters to behave in a way that I approved of (something pretty difficult considering both Tauriel and Thranduil's respective stubborn streaks), I finally got this chapter to a place where I felt okay with it. This fic is moving along pretty quickly and won't be super long, but I'm excited because in the next chapter, we'll be in some familiar territory :). I hope you enjoyed it and, as always, feel free to let me know what you think in a review!


	4. Chapter 4

The first time that Tauriel had a major disagreement with one of the king's decisions, she had been serving the Woodland Realm for nearly five hundred and forty years and, while her post required her to report to the king daily on matters of the realm's defense, she does not see him in over a fortnight by his own orders.

It is not for lack of trying on her part, either. Every day, when the sun has set and the patrols have all made it back from their expeditions and her commanders relay their own briefings to her, the Captain of Mirkwood dutifully reports to the throne room, where it has become habit for the King to receive this briefings, and, every evening without fail, Tauriel is met with an empty throne. That, however, should not have come as a surprise to her, for in all of her time in the Elvenking's halls, he has always somehow sensed her presence even before Tauriel has announced herself—the silence, she realizes, should have tipped her off.

Occasionally, when her mind is not busy contemplating the organization of patrol schedules, whether or not the new trainees will be ready in time for their induction to the guard, the next great reform she will propose to the king, and gauging just how corrupted the forest has grown around Thranduil's halls (which seems to occupy more and more of her thoughts and worries with each passing year), Tauriel wonders how the king does it?

At times, when she is taking her rest and does not require sleep, her mind slips from her usual dreams of starlight and the sound of a gentle breeze through green tree tops and she questions if there is something in the way that she walks or breathes or even _smells_ that Thranduil can pick up on. She tells herself that that she is merely considering it to make sure she is not at a tactical disadvantage somehow, but the truth of the matter is that sometimes, Tauriel cannot stop her mind from thinking about the king, although she reasons this away as the normal thoughts of an elf who, without any family of which to speak, holds those who have shown any sort of care for her at all in high regard.

And after all, she thinks, the care he has shown her by giving her a place to call home and allowing her to live the life she chose is no small thing. Tauriel fails to notice that every time this thought occurs to her, her fingers idly drift to the single white gem hanging from her neck.

(And, truly, some things are best left unnoticed for a time).

When Tauriel first finds the throne room empty, she is surprised, but not shocked, as it is not unheard of for Thranduil to take counsel in his council chambers, and so without so much as a moment's pause to question if there is some odd event throwing the always reliable and collected king from his usual routine, Tauriel heads there. What does make her pause, though, is discovering that the council chambers are unguarded and empty, save for a few maps and papers strewn across the gleaming, oval table that dominates the room. From their placement at the head of the table, Tauriel can tell that the king had been there at some point recently, though why he is not there now is the puzzling question at hand. Glancing upwards and checking the strength of the light streaming in from the world above the cavernous palace walls, Tauriel is reassured that it is the same time of day that she always delivers her briefings, and while she is confident in her own timeliness, she cannot shake the slight seed of concern that is taking root at the king's unprecedented absence.

Unsure of what to do next, she begins to head in the direction she knows the king's personal chambers to be in, though she has never had cause to visit them herself. They are quite near Legolas', though, and since she spends almost as much time in her friend's rooms as she does her own, sharing meals and discussing the day-to-day happenings in the guard, the path is a familiar one.

The royal apartments, unlike the rest of Thranduil's halls, are located in a portion of the palace that is above ground, allowing for what Tauriel knows from her time with the Prince are stunning views of a section of the woods that has remained uncorrupted with time and darkness, and so the halls which Tauriel takes slope ever-so-slightly upwards as she climbs. She finds the walk full of enjoyable memories of running through the halls with Legolas in the days of their shared youth, though the Prince had always been just a bit older than she.

She cannot help but worry for her friend, as lately it seems that he is growing stern before his time. Because of this, she goes out of her way to try and coerce him to smile, and, after some time away from the constraints of court life and in the relative freedom of the forest, she always manages to succeed. For once in her life, Tauriel is glad that she is Silvan and not required to join in the politics and intrigues which the highborn seem so embroiled. She has little talent for it and knows that in his heart of hearts, Legolas is the same. Not for the first time, she wonders if his attempt at dispassionate severity is his attempt to live up to the duties of a prince. It is, she thinks, a sort of poor imitation of his father's own contained aura.

Tauriel is interrupted from her musings when she arrives at the entrance to the king's chambers, where two royal guards stand watch over the impressively carved set of double doors, decorated with an intricate motif of vines weaving into the forms of two great trees with the ever-present pattern of stag's horns curling in and out of prevalence in the background. For a brief moment, she wonders if it was Thranduil who had commissioned such impressive doors, which bear a motif noticeably similar to her own carved wooden box. Feeling foolish, she realizes after a moment that these doors were most likely the doors of his father's chambers before the chambers became Thranduil's own. The thought leaves her with an acute feeling of sadness and sympathy as it occurs to her that like her, the king has no living parents either. Her mind quickly returns to the task at hand as the guards nod respectfully at her in greeting, though they remain silent.

Remembering her purpose, Tauriel stands just a bit taller and reaches out a hand to knock and announce her presence, barely sparing a thought to what she will find on the other side of the doors, when she hears a rustle of movement from beyond them and one of the great doors opens, revealing the king's butler, Galion, as he exits the royal chambers. Tauriel registers the slight frown on his face before he notices her and schools his features into the perfected mask of polite servility—Galion had never much liked the redhead, though her standing and the regard the king hold her in is enough to make him at least behave with some civility towards the young captain of the guard. Tauriel cannot help but think that perhaps the few practical jokes she and the prince played on the poor edhel during their youth are the cause, though she never questions Galion about it, as she still fervently believes he could do with a little less severity and a little more laughter. Secretly, she knows that it is not just that—that for years, Galion has harbored a disapproval of her even before the jokes started, which she knows stems, first, from his disapproval of her being so close to the prince and, now, Captain of the Guard as a common Silvan elleth. Tauriel has always gotten the distinct feeling that the Sindar butler takes an inordinate amount of pride in his social standing and close working proximity to the royal family, even if he is merely a servant.

"Can I help you, Captain?" the strict ellon asks gravely, standing between Tauriel and the door, as if the guards would not be enough of a deterrent to keep her from barging into the king's chambers. Tauriel has to silence a proud snort of laughter as she takes this in, knowing that while skilled, the kings guards who rarely see any real conflict would not be able to subdue her, let alone Galion, who, while as good with a sword as any elf, spent much of his time fetching the king food and drink. She _is_ puzzled by what the butler means to do by stopping her, but pays it no real mind. She does make a mental note to bring up his personal security, or lack therefore, to the king when she finally speaks to him.

"If you could allow me to pass," she replies, unable to contain at least a bit of her mirth from registering in the form of a slight smile as she moves to slip around Galion and through the doors, "I have business with the King."

Seeing her intent, Galion stands taller and takes a step back, blocking the doors with his body even more thoroughly, going even so far as to spread his arms across the wooden carving and flatten his palms against it in a gesture of no admittance.

"King Thranduil has asked not to be disturbed at this time," Galion explains, and Tauriel gets the sense that he is enjoying being able to tell her no.

"Yes, well, I have matters of defense to discuss with him," she returns breezily, growing a bit impatient at being ordered around by one as pompous as Galion. "If you would…" she trails off, gesturing with one hand for him to move away from the doors.

At this, the king's butler takes a deep breath that seems almost a sniff to Tauriel and raises his chin noticeably.

"The king," he states with an air of importance and Sindar superiority, "has recently returned from Erebor and is exhausted from his travels—"

"—Yes, I know," Tauriel cuts in impatiently, "but this is about the security of the realm!"

"He has asked to see _no one._ " Galion continues without missing a beat, placing a great deal of stress and volume on the last two words. "Has the security of the realm changed drastically since the last time you spoke with the king, Captain?" he questions.

"No, not as such, but the king prefers to have a briefing at the end of each day." Tauriel explains as she folds her hands across her chest, exasperation coloring her tone.

"And yet today he has asked _not_ to see you. Is that concept too hard for you to grasp, Captain?" he returns snootily, making her title sound like more of an insult than an honor—the thin veneer of respect which he normally uses when speaking to her evaporating like the morning mist on a sunny day.

"No, it is not," Tauriel replies uncharacteristically and without and emotion, turning on her heel and walking back the way she came, noting with a small wave of dark satisfaction that as she does so, her long hair whips in such a way that it hits the self-satisfied elf in the face. She takes great care not to walk away too quickly, yet when has passed from the viewpoint of Galion and the guards, she finds herself picking up her pace and striding with purpose until she reaches her chambers, waking herself from the thoughtless reverie she had slipped into with the sound her door makes as she shuts it with a surprising amount of force.

Tauriel is not sure why, but there is something about Galion's words that leaves her feeling stung.

That night, Tauriel keeps to herself, preferring the company of newly drawn up patrol schedules and official reports to that of her fellow guards and even Legolas. She takes her meal in her chambers, which she does just rarely enough to evoke a surprised expression and a query as to her health from one of the older palace maids, but she explains it away as merely general fatigue from the length of the day and no one questions it. As captain, she is exceptionally dedicated to her tasks and so, it comes as no surprise to her elders that even her seemingly inexhaustible supply of spirit would dwindle occasionally.

Tauriel's evening passes in a mind-numbing blur of official words and sealed pieces of parchment, though, she rationalizes, in her line of work, perhaps slightly boring news is better than anything exciting, yet dangerous. The reports detail that the spread of Mirkwood's strange corruption is growing, yet at the normal rate, if any such thing can be considered normal, she concedes, and that there is record of the King meeting up with patrols while passing through in the direction of Erebor. Perhaps that is why he did not require a report, she thinks, realizing that the condition of the forest is most likely not so unfamiliar to the king after journeying through it. The explanation makes sense, though it does strangely little to soothe her mysterious hurt. The only report of notice was one from one a routine patrol Tauriel had authorized in the north of the kingdom.

While the report labels the corruption and spiders at an average level compared to the rest of Mirkwood as of late, the commander had made a point to note that there was a growing feeling of unease, somehow different but not altogether unrelated to the corruption permeating the forest the further north the patrol ventured. Frowning, Tauriel reads through the report again, not wanting to miss any details. Though there is no concrete evidence of a threat, she knows that a wise leader would take such claims of disquiet seriously, as her kindred have long been known to sense the coming presence of evil long before it made any sort of physical appearance. She knows from her own lifetime of experience in the forest that this holds true, thinking, sadly enough, of her own talents of sensing the growing evil around her home even before seeing the nests and rotting pockets of corruption with her own eyes.

Tauriel moves the report in question closer to the candle she was using to read the commanding officer's name, and, seeing that it was Merethor, knew almost without a doubt that the report was true. Since recovering from his injuries that one fateful day, the ellon's merry disposition had grown a touch more serious and his instincts a touch sharper. Looking back on that day, Tauriel suspected that they had all grown a bit wiser and perhaps graver with the passing time and awareness of danger.

Though it causes a sinking feeling of futility and sadness in her heart, she knows that Merethor would not make such a claim lightly; the area would have to be watched. The king would want to hear about this, she knows, yet the thought of being rebuffed once more only intensifies the dull ache that had mysteriously taken up residence in her gut. Moving away from her work to take in the cool night air from her balcony, Tauriel contemplates her next move, losing track of time beneath the night sky. Finally, after too many hours had passed and Tauriel finds her mind sufficiently quieted and the stinging in her stomach had faded into a more manageable burning knot, Tauriel retires to her bed.

She wakes at first light the next morning with a renewed sense of purpose and dresses quickly and efficiently in the pale light, stopping only to eat a few mouthfuls of the breakfast a maid had brought to her chambers. Though she wears her usual garb consisting of light, flexible leather armor, Tauriel feels almost as if she is clothed full battle raiment and, fingers brushing her silver pendant as she leaves her chambers for the day, she takes comfort in the feeling.

In the coming days, Tauriel focuses on her duties with a rather uncharacteristic sense of solemnity, making sure to personally debrief Merethor and the rest of the northern patrol upon their return each evening. While his reports remain quiet, he makes a point to mention his unease to the captain, explaining with each passing day how it grows stronger.

She tries to hide her concern from the rest of the guard, but she knows that Merethor, at least, can guess her thoughts from the frown she cannot quite stop from appearing on her face at the content of his reports each day. To his credit, he says nothing about it in front of his patrol, which she thinks is a small mercy. His group, though experienced, is rather young by elven standards and while both she and Merethor have had a taste of what evil lies within Mirkwood's own borders, she cannot help but try and preserve the innocence of others for as long as it is possible, knowing that they will loose it soon enough in service of the kingdom. That, Tauriel knows, is the true price of their oaths; sacrificing their own innocence and even lives so that the rest of their people may live in untroubled peace. She finds herself wondering idly in moments when she sneaks out of the Elvenking's halls and walks above the forest in the light of the stars, if this is what Thranduil meant when he warned her from taking up arms in the guard? _He must know the feeling well_ , she thinks, _as it must also be one of the burdens of being a king,_ though the knowledge of her own presumption stops her from thinking such thoughts the light of day.

Though she knows that her work with the guard is serious business, she cannot keep her passion for their cause from igniting a small spark of excitement in her heart of hearts. While she knows that times are growing darker, she takes a deep sense of pride in her work, in spite of this danger.

At the end of each day, she enters the throne room to relay these reports of a growing unrest to the king, only to find it empty evening after evening. In the first few days, she goes as far as to seek the king at the doors of his chambers, yet after being rebuffed by Galion every time, she eventually gives her trips up as futile. The butler's relayed message that the king trusts her to continue running the guard as usual is cold comfort to the aching feeling in the pit of her stomach that she attempts to ignore, though the feeling does fuel an extraordinary fire of focus in her.

Soon, she has not seen the king with her own eyes in around a week, though her regular conversations with Legolas tell her that he remains still in his halls, presiding over the realm from his private chambers. What irks her more about the situation is hearing through the grapevine that the king had even taken audiences with other members of court and various councils. She cannot help but feel as if the King was avoiding _her_ for some unexplained reason, though every time that particular thought comes into her head, unbidden, she pushes it away as folly.

After all, why would a king as great as he be bothered by the petty actions of an elleth such as herself?

Legolas, too, is not unaffected by the King's recent behavior, Tauriel notices. In recent days, he is more often than not in the forest, joining her on patrols during the day and in the evening, inviting her to his chambers to dine with him rather than taking his meals with the rest of the guard, as they are both known to do more often than not. For this, Tauriel is glad, as she does not quite feel up to the bright laughter and jests of the guard's dining hall these past few days.

During their time together, both captain and prince refrain from talking too much about Mirkwood's growing corruption, but instead focus on the joys they have both found in their jobs as protectors, from who was able to shoot the most spiders with their bow (usually Legolas, to Tauriel's mock dismay) to who was able to run the fastest through the treetops (Tauriel in this case, the Silvan is pleased to note). Both elves try not to discuss the king much, as a general rule, although Tauriel cannot help but ask Legolas if he has spoken with his father at least once at some point every evening. In an uncharacteristic reversal of reactions, Legolas finds that when he answers that, yes, he has seen his father, it is Tauriel who grows more distant and withdrawn; the solemn mask of duty she has been donning as captain in the past few days slamming back into place.

Of course it is natural for the king to want to see his son, she rationalizes, but that does not stop her from feeling more and more as if his absence from her life of late is more of a conscientious avoidance rather than mere coincidence and the knot in her stomach to make itself unpleasantly known for a brief moment until she is able to push the feeling down.

Though he says nothing about Tauriel's recent change in attitude, Legolas finds his concern for the captain growing and is at a loss of what to do about it, save reluctantly mentioning her growing concern about the forest to his father when he sees him.

Much to the prince's dismay, Thranduil has also been behaving oddly as of late—preferring to be alone in his chambers with his favorite Dorwinion vintages ever since he returned from his most recent trip to visit the King Under the Mountain. Though Legolas knows very little of what the trip was about besides a routine act of diplomacy, he cannot help but wonder what occurred, though is father remains silent on the matter. Despite their strained recent relationship, Legolas is concerned by this silence and conducts his own inquiries, hearing from Galion and other members of the emissary only that the dwarves had deeply insulted the Elvenking, and, by extension, their entire race.

As the days pass and his father still remains more closed off than normal, the light-hearted prince cannot help but feel a red-hot fury growing within him at the actions of the dwarves. Though he is not sure what they have done exactly, and his relationship with his father remains difficult at the best of times, that does not stop him from being angry that their actions have drawn his father even further away, though he will not admit it. When he sees that the king's actions are even affecting Tauriel, Legolas becomes doubly furious that somehow, the behavior of these small beings of Aule, who have been poor friends of his kin in the past, is now plaguing the only two whom Legolas holds dear.

One day, when he can bear his father's aloofness no longer and Tauriel has been particularly solemn while on patrol, only to grow more so at Merethor's increasingly dark news, Legolas breaks his silence at the captain's request.

"Father," he begins, addressing the king's richly robed back as he stands, staring at something in the distance from the view of his balcony, "there is something you should know—there is a growing unease coming from the North. The patrols warn of a coming darkness," but it seems as if his words have no effect on his father. After waiting impatiently for a beat to see if this will change, Legolas can take it no longer and raises his voice.

"Did you hear what I said, Father?" he asks, not without a slight tinge of anger.

"Yes, of course, I heard you, Legolas," the king finally returns, though his voice is sedate and his back remains turned toward his son.

"And shall we do nothing about it?" the prince queries. "Each day, it grows worse and worse. Will you not talk to the captain? Tauriel is growing sick with worry!" he continues, unable to keep a frantic note from his voice as he relays the last bit about Tauriel to his father.

Finally taking notice, the king turns to face his son, walking inside and towards the bottle of wine resting on a table between them as he does so.

"Do you think I know nothing of this?" Thranduil returns calmly, if not also with a slight coolness, arching an eyebrow at Legolas in seeming admonishment as he fills his glass with more of the garnet-colored beverage.

"Then why have we done nothing?" Legolas shoots back, causing his father to sigh as he straightens up, looking his son in the eyes for the first time since his return.

"You are still so full of youth at times, my leaf," Thranduil says, eyes softening for a moment and filling with a sorrow Legolas had rarely seen before his voice becomes professional once again and he begins to pace, turning their conversation into a sort of lesson in kingship that Legolas hates not only due to lack of interest, but also due to his father's assumption that one day, he will no longer be King of Mirkwood and Legolas no longer merely its prince. "A good king senses the shifts in his realm, even without them being spoken outright. I have known about the unease in the North for awhile now and there is nothing at the moment that can be done," he explains.

"And what of Tauriel?" Legolas asks, filling a glass of wine for himself as he does so. If he is to sit through a lesson, he reasons, he might as well have something to make it slightly more bearable. "Surely it would do her good to know this!" he states, noticing that Thranduil's eyes have narrowed at his mention of the red-head, before he turns his back once more on Legolas, though keeps his gaze on him, looking at his son over the shoulder of his deep red robes.

"Do you question the captain's capabilities of maintaining the guard on her own?" the king questions sharply.

"No, of course not!" Legolas answers quickly, "I only thought that perhaps reporting face to face with you might give her a greater sense of ease—and you as well, father. It seems as if everyone is tense as of late," the prince adds, speaking the last bit so lightly, it seems more like an errant thought rather than a pointed statement, though it does not go unnoticed by Thranduil.

"The captain," he responds coldly, the remnants of his earlier bit of affection completely vanishing from his tone, "will do her duty as I see fit, or others with more capable hands will take over the post—this, she knows well. I do not need my son coming in here and reporting to me the mental state of _my own_ Captain of the Guard. If she were really so overwrought, she would be here telling me herself, I have no doubt."

"And how can she when you will not take an audience with her?" Legolas poses, unable to keep a note a frustration from his voice.

"I will not be questioned in this, Legolas," Thranduil delivers with a tone of finality that even his son will not challenge. "If the captain needs to speak with me, she will be heard. Until then, I remain conducting the running of this kingdom as I so choose."

"Yes, Father," Legolas answers after taking a sip of wine, quite at a loss of how to solve the issue. While he remains confused as the his father's current mood, he does know that he will not be sharing the details of this conversation with Tauriel, knowing it would somehow only serve to injure her pride, or at the very least ignite her anger, which he knows from years of friendship to be rather formidable. At the thought of the captain's feistiness, the prince cannot keep a small smile from appearing on his face, though it has very little to do with the present topic at hand.

Legolas' change in demeanor is not unnoticed by his father, who, seeing his son's slight smile, guesses his thoughts and frowns deeply at what they foretell. Love, Thranduil knows better than most, is as powerful an emotion as it is painful. He would have his only son spared the hurt, and vows to do his best to protect him from it, as any father would, he reasons, brow furrowing as the thoughts occur to him.

"Perhaps, my son, it would do you best to attend to more of your princely duties here, in court, and less out amongst the wilds of the forest." Thranduil poses lightly. His words have the intended effect of interrupting his son's musings, he notes, as Legolas' gaze meets his own once again, though this time without the note of mild frustration that graced their earlier conversation.

"If this is a plea for me to attend more council sessions in order to give you a break from the whining of politicians, then you know it is hopeless," Legolas says with a wry smile. "I am more of a hindrance than a help when it comes to that aspect of royal life."

"Yes, I am afraid you rather are," Thranduil affirms dryly, but not without his own small smile of indulgence. "I will just have to be contented with having Galion bring me more wine," to which Legolas only responds with raised eyebrows and a pointed look as Thranduil returns to his post by the balcony, finished with conversation for the moment. As he hears his son walking to the doors, he adds one last comment.

"Be careful, Legolas."

"Of course, Father," the prince acquiesces. Many years to come, Legolas realizes that perhaps his father did not just mean in the dangers of the forest. Though he does not mention it, it does not slip past the prince's observation that in the entire course of conversation, not once does his father refer to the captain by her given name, although that too, is something that he does not understand the significance of for some time.

When Thranduil hears the doors shut behind him and realizes he is alone once again in his chambers, he lets out an subconscious sigh of relief and takes a deep pull of wine from the silver and crystal goblet in his hands. Though he is alone once more, his thoughts are still with his son.

He has always known that Legolas was fond of Tauriel as a friend, but now that that regard seems to be growing and changing in nature, he will have spend time observing it to see if it is wise. Legolas, he knows, is still relatively young and the young Silvan captain even more so. It would do neither one of them any good to get jeopardize their relationship due to the follies and misunderstandings of youth, he thinks, rationalizing the sense of foreboding and worry this revelation has brought about in him. He will not see his son hurt, if he can help it, and at the thought, images of white gems and the sound of long-forgotten laughter and the fair face that it belongs to fill his head once again, causing a piercing pain as if he has been run through with a blade in his chest.

Faintly, as if from a far way off, he hears the doors to his chamber open and close again and his butler's voice call out to him.

"My lord," the voice calls, "all of the guard patrols have returned for the day. Shall I send for Captain Tauriel to brief you?"

With a faint shake of his head, he dismisses Galion without even turning to face the elf, and, hearing the doors close once more as he dismisses himself, Thranduil takes another deep drink of wine before surrendering to the memories he has fought so hard to suppress, feeling the full brunt of his incredible loneliness as he had not since the days immediately following his loss at Gundabad.

A/N: Hey there everyone! I'm sorry for taking such a long absence from updating, but if you're reading this, thank you sooooooooo much for bearing with me! This past chapter was a bit of a struggle for me since summer suddenly happened in the middle of it, causing me to be somewhat lazier and with way less time than normal. I also severely underestimated how much story was going to be going into this, causing it to be longer than I originally thought. More to come asap, and we'll get to see how Tauriel handles being semi-ignored (hint, it's going to be fun! :). I definitely promise faster updates from now on! Thank you all soooooo much for your lovely comments and messages, too...You don't know how much they mean to me! Feel free to leave more! (They definitely help me get my lazy butt in gear and get writing!)


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